The Storybook
by Curtisimo
Summary: A seres of loosely connected ficlets centered around the residents of a city in Minecraftia. Rating will vary on a chapter-by-chapter basis. Our first stop: Poker Night At The Lucky Enchanter!
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is a place where I'll be dumping all the ideas I couldn't really flesh out too well, or didn't think were good enough to be published standalone. I'll gladly expand on anything you guys like, though! Now, for our first stop, we head to a shady bar, and an even shadier back room in said bar...**

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To the outside viewer, it was just another hole-in-the-wall pub in a dark side of town. The crude sign nailed above the door was nearly illegible, but the people who frequented the place knew it as The Lucky Enchanter. Famous for its non-famousness, chances are you've never heard of it. Don't blame you. Typically, only lawbreakers know about it, and you seem like a pretty law-abiding audience.

To the untrained eye, The Lucky Enchanter looked like a perfectly normal little pub. Right now it was around midnight, far past the curfew set in place by the city government to help protect its residents. This wouldn't be a problem for the patrons still in the bar, though. They either knew the police routes by heart, or knew the policemen themselves.

If you noticed The Lucky Enchanter (which is unlikely) you might try to look in through the window. This would be very hard. The windows are smudged and dirtied by years of accumulated scum and crust. If you we're still curious (which you wouldn't be) you would then see the small CLOSED sign above the doorknob. If you we're still utterly resolute in getting inside, you would find the door locked. The lock in that door could stop the force of a speeding minecart and not be rattled, let alone your puny tugs and shoves and jostles. Then you would go home. If you had somehow seen through the windows, however, you would've seen a fat, fiftyish man with a highly obvious toupee polishing some glasses, more than likely staring right back at you. If you had somehow gone in, he would've welcomed you in a cheerful tone and asked if you wanted anything to eat or drink, or perhaps you would be staying the night? You would awnser this with a yes or a no, eat, sleep or drink your full, and be off on your way by morning. Yes, the bartender, Fredric, was normal. It was what happened downstairs that was strange.

Behind the bartenders counter is a trapdoor. This trapdoor leads to some stairs, which leads to a basement which has been retrofitted into a brewery. In this brewery, there is a painting. This painting is attached to a fairly small door. Behind this door is a poker table. At this poker table, five beings sat playing Texas Holdem.

The first of these beings was none other than your beloved narrator himself, Castro. Castro was wearing the leather longcoat he was seemingly inseparable from, and had on a mighty fine fedora if he thought so himself. He had a king and a jack. Not so good. He gave a once-over of the people he had slowly come to know as his "poker buddies."

To his immediate left was another human like himself, a man named Steve. Steve was fairly well liked and well known as an adventurer. After he had gotten a bit too old to be saving the world from the terror of the week, the government had set him up as the mayor of some small mining town in the mountains. He made regular trips into town though, still kept in touch with everyone. He was wearing a teal shirt a pair of black jeans. Classy. No one folds this round, and the first card on the table was flipped up. An ace.

To his immediate left was Dave. Dave was a... thing. He looked and smelled like a zombie, but... wasn't. He blistered in the sun, but had the sharp mind of a normal human being. Couldn't talk though, seemed like his vocal chords had rotted away at some point. He lived down here, in a room directly adjacent to the poker room. He wore the same thing he always wore: a ripped and torn white office shirt and blood-red tie, blue jeans and black dress shoes. Dave was holding his cards tight to his chest. He was either hiding some great cards or a pair of flops. Castro did the same. He smelled some luck.

Directly across from Dave was an Enderman. He was named Ezekial Bartimaeous FretzFrerd the seventy-nineth, or so he said. He didnt appear to hear people if they tried to shorten it to Zeke or Bart or anything. He was one of the few truly 'cultured' Endernen. He had a full grasp of English, and was quite nice and friendly, until you looked at him of course. He didn't rip your arm off and beat you with it or anything, but he sure got pissy. Everyone held again, and the second card was turned. A queen. Castro tried his hardest to keep a straight face, but he was jumping with excitement. Inside of course.

The last person at the table was noone special. A human, name of Dan. He was a comedian, and frequented the bar. It had only been a matter of time till he got held up in the bathroom before closing or something and saw the group. He was in now. He wore a black vest with a green shirt underneath, and had glasses as thick as glass panes. He was sweating profusely, knew he was about to lose. It was time again. Everyone stared at the final card. No one said a word. Me and Dave leaned in in expectancy as the card flipped over.

Another queen.

Zeke stood up, his already massive form now filling the room vertically. "It would appear that with the turning of the final card it has become apparent that I, Exekial Bartimaeous FretzFrerd has four of the small paper slips with human women on them titled queens. This means I have four of a kind. This means that you are all bankrupt and that I have won."

We stared at him. He still didn't quite get the nuance of not talking your ear off. As we stared, he exhaled, a loud sound like nails on a chalkboard being scratched by sandpaper. Then, with a fury we could hear was barely controlled, he said "I would greatly appreciate it if you looked away."

We looked away and slid our chips over. He then split the chips in five equal piles, doled then out, and we started back over again.

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**So, not bad, eh? But first, a message for all you collaborators out there! Right now I'm trying to put together a collaboration story that I hope to be written by just about everyone in the archive. Just go to 'Minecraft Forums' and look for 'Friendly Competition'. There, you can join in the fun! Now, good night procrastinators!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome back, everyone! I'm so very sorry about this massive hiatus, but in truth it was not a hiatus at all! Me, Flu, FlyingMidgetProductions and Foundry Cove have been working on a collaboration project entitled 'Friendly Competition.' If you want to join, feel free to head on over to the Minecraft forums and look for 'Friendly Competition.' Now, our next story: An Idiot Forgets To Pay The Power Bill!**

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It's eleven-oh-four PM. 11:04 Post Meridian. And Randy was terrified.

Randy lived on the outskirts of town. He liked his alone time, which he had a lot of. A depressingly large amount of, really, but he liked to not stink about that. Rather, he thought of all the free time he had to do new things! And all the things he had done in that free time! Like...

...

He had so much time to do whatever he wanted! But he was going to die tonight. He knew it. He hadn't payed the power company, and now his lights were out. On a new moon, of all nights. They had to kick it off tonight?! Why not wait until a full moon? Damn, why not wait 'till MORNING, for crying out loud?! There Randy was, listening to Ward, thinking about all his wonderful free time, when poof. Gone. No light. At night. And he didn't have any torches, or coal. Or sticks, even. When he went into work, which was rare, Randy spent his paychecks on frivolous items, such as music disks like Ward. And food, of course. And beer. Lots of it. Randy liked beer.

Its not healthy to think of yourself in the third person, thought Me/Randy/I. But what was the point in worrying about the steadily asserting psychosis he had when he was about to die, Randy thought? No, stop that. I thought. I'm Randy.

Ok, get a grip, find an anchor, something real. His impending death, for one. There was literally nothing he could do. He could either run to town and buy a torch, which would get him killed, or wait in his house and wait in his house to be eaten. Either way, he dies. Bye bye, Randy. He would be found dead a week later, and cause such a stink they burn the house down too. Not sure how, seeing as it was stone, but they would find a way. Plot-setting morons. They wanted him to die!

Paranoia, a small part of him said. No matter now.

Slowly. Randy calmed down. I calmed down. Stop that. Stop that 'Randy did' malarkey. You are Randy. First person.

As I calmed down, I thought. Escape meant getting eaten, which wasn't pleasant. Staying meant getting eater later. He wanted the extra time. He stayed. He tryed to whistle Ward to myself, but it was hard to remember. I couldn't get the sad part of the song; that weird organ-pipe thing in the beginning. It reminded me of funerals.

I looked out his window. I could see a zombie. I was going to die. It was going to leap through the window, or beat the door down, or break through the wall, and eat Randy. Randy was thinking in third person again. I didn't care. I was dead! Why care?! I'd be a tasty little snack for someone as well, which was a nice thought. The zombie was closer. It had a pack on, that was clear because of the bump on its back, but Randy couldn't see much else because it was really quite dark. No lights, no moon, ect. Randy closed his eyes and waited.

_Knock-Knockiddy Knock Knock... Knockknock!_

Zombies don't knock. Was it a zombie? A courteous one? Would it scoop hit brain out with a melon baller, wear a bib, profuse apologies and whatnot? It/He/She knocked again, somehow transferring its impatience through the sharp rapts.

Randy knew it would break the door in soon. Randy went to his happy place, just as the monster noticed a small button near the door.

_Randy was having a whale of a time! It was his thirty-first birthday, and all his friends had come! He had so many friends! And food! And working electricity, because he was in a both respectful and well paying job! His wife was beautiful, and his son was a track star! The doorbell rang, and Randy eagerly opened the door to see who had come next! The man didn't give his name, but Randy recognised him! He was David, the enigmatic man from town! Randy didn't know him, but the while city had turned up for his birthday, because he was so well liked! He welcomed David with open arms and_

__I had just been slapped. By the zombie. Who was in my house. Because I let him in. Because he was nice. Because I knew him. I was safe. No zombie. Just a zombie. I mean, not a Zombie zombie. I was safe.

Dave pulled a torch from his pack and struck it against the wall. It was one of those cool new ones that ignited upon being given a sharp crack. I couldn't afford them. Or anything. Dave pushed the torch into my hands, and dug in his shirt pocket. He pulled out a sheet of paper, with a scratchy as entrance written across it. I read it as Dave left.

'Know how to play Poker?'

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**Poor, deranged Randy.**


End file.
